Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag: Retribution
by RobStorm
Summary: Set just after Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag. Edward has finished his journey to becoming an Assassin, but one more adventure in the Caribbean awaits. A young man whose family has been torn apart by the Templars seeks retribution, and as he crosses paths with Edward, learns the ways of the Assassin's Creed. I DO NOT OWN ASSASSIN'S CREED - UBISOFT DOES
1. Chapter 1

Assassin's Creed IV Black Flag: Retribution

**1**

May 1722, Havana, Cuba.  
It was afternoon on a particularly hot Wednesday. Any particularly eagle eyed individual may have seen the blonde, bearded male making his way cautiously through the crowd - but only for a minute, as he was gone as soon as spotted - with the crowds. He was dressed in a peculiar white outfit - with blue highlights and a red belt - and a hood shadowing his eyes. Most distinctive was the four pistols - in holsters - two on his chest, two on his belt. Two gleaming swords hung at either side of him, with no scabbard. On his back was what looked like a blowpipe, and in various places were pouches, most likely containing ammunition. On his wrists were hardened leather bracers- with a strange contraption on their underside. The uniform had been heavily modified but looked like it had once been a sailor outfit.  
The man walked- slowly but cautiously -through the dense crowd that had gathered in the town square to witness a public execution. The 'guilty', was in fact, an innocent man, a merchant. However, he was - fairly - taking up the business of another, a Frenchman by the name of Thierry du Calors - and an influential member of the government of Havana - a snake in the grass. Thierry had paid for his rival to be arrested and executed for a crime he had not committed - and to be the leading judge in the case.  
The hooded man had come to stop this.  
As he came nearer the man heard the harsh voice of Thierry du Calors.  
"The accused, Henry Oakwood, has been charged with piracy - on multiple occasions - during which you have allegedly stolen over 10000 royals of goods. What say you, in your defence?"  
It was clear Oakwood wad confused and traumatised. His hands were bound behind his back, and his face was bruised from beatings.  
"These accusations are preposterous!" he cried, "I am but a mere merchant!"  
Du Calors smiled cruelly. This was no fair trial.  
"The accused has refused to confess! This man has no reasonable defence, and so is clearly guilty, and we can only hope that God takes pity on his poor soul. I sentence Henry Oakwood to death, by a shot to the head!"  
Henry's mouth was open, speechless. The bloodthirsty crowd was jeering, but by now th_e_ hooded man had made it to the front, and drew his blowpipe.

Oakwood was being forced to his knees by 2 yellow uniformed Spanish guards, while du Calors had been presented with a ceremonial pistol by a third. He trained this at Oakwood, who was struggling. The blowpipe was now loaded and at the hooded man's lips. He breathed in, and was just about to unleash a deadly dart, when a loud bang from a pistol rang out - but not from the Frenchman. He stood for only a second, dumbfounded at the wound that had appeared in his side - not a killing blow. The shock had caused him to drop his pistol as he grabbed his wound. The hooded man snapped into action - killing his target now would be foolish - he needed to secure the innocent man's safety first. Like lightning he sheathed the pipe and dived onto the stage - his target was moving too much for a clean shot. In one movement he slashed through Oakwood's bindings and threw him off the platform, and he took his chance, sprinting away. The hooded men stood, but now spotted another man in a hood in the crowd discard a pistol and make to walk off. The total of six guards had spotted this too - and the man who had dived onto the platform.

"HALTA!" they screamed, and the second hooded man broke into a run. The first jumped off the platform and made a break for him, with the guards following both in hot pursuit. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. Even at 29 the man in white was incredibly fit, and followed his target through alley after alley of the labyrinth of streets that was Havana. The guards were keeping up too. Finally, after about five minutes of running, they reached a dead end. The two men turned to face. The second man was in a white and green outfit not dissimilar to the first man, but with only one sword and two pistols. He was no older than 18.

"Name?" growled the older man, in a Swansea accent

"Will. Will Thatcher." The man spoke with a slight Yorkshire twang to his accent.

The older man flinched slightly at "Thatch" as that was the last name of a friend he had failed to save - Blackbeard.

"Well, Thatcher," he began "You'll explain about your issue with du Calors later. I'm Edward Kenway."

The two grasped wrists with mutual respect earned from the chase, but Edward was cautious. This man could be dangerous.

Suddenly the six guards came wheeling around the corner - swords drawn.

Edward drew his two top quality blades of Toledo, a two of a kind set, and Will drew his - a British cutlass, kept in impressive condition.

The guards advanced.

"So Will," grinned Edward. "How's your sword arm?"

"Raring to go." returned Will confidently.

"Good." They both took down their hoods. Edward had messy blonde locks, while Will had brown hair and an untidy fringe. With that, the soldiers charged.

It was a slaughter.

The duo's swords whirled. It was clear they had both practiced all their lives. They didn't tire in the sweltering heat, and the soldiers had been trained in efficient blows, and weren't capable of keeping up with the fancy swordplay. In minutes five dead Spaniards lay, their blood quickly caking to the cobbles in the hot sunlight. The last one dropped his sword and made to run.

"Wait!" yelled Will, grabbing the man's wrist.

"Si señor?" answered the Spaniard, in a scared whisper.

Will changed immediately and became deadly serious, "You tell du Calors that his crimes are not forgotten. And tell him that while this remains true he is not safe. There will be retribution." Will shook him roughly. "Savvy?"

"Si, si muchos gracias señor!"

Hardly believing his luck, the soldier turned and bolted down the alley.


	2. Chapter 2

Assassin's Creed IV Black Flag: Retribution

**Hey guys! I got a fav on chapter 1 so thank you to Tony Jr, it would be great if you could drop a review! Thanks!**

**I DO NOT OWN ASSASSIN'S CREED. UBISOFT DOES.**

**2**

The two men stood by the clutter of bodies for a second, when Edward turned towards Will.

"Well, _Will _-"

Suddenly came a noise – 'SHINK' – as the contraption on Will's right wrist bracer activated. It was a concealed blade, and as he flexed his wrist the blade sprung out, reaching just past his finger, in the same movement he jabbed towards Edward's neck.

But Edward was a seasoned fighter, with razor sharp reflexes. Just in time he caught Will's wrist, and twisted it around, catching him in an arm-lock. But Will was a fighter too. He lashed out with his foot, catching Edward in the stomach, making him double over. At this moment Will drew his sword again and slashed downwards for a killing strike, but Edward had a trick up his sleeve – literally. He sprang his own right arm wrist-blade and raised it above his head – and it somehow did not shatter upon impact with the arcing sword. Instead a huge clang sounded, and the sword slid down the blade, and caught at a clever hook placed at its beginning. Will tugged but it wouldn't just budge. Swiftly Edward lunged upwards with his head, straightening up. He pushed away with his hidden blade, and the two became untangled.

Like a flash, the two drew pistols at exactly the same moment, and both were trained at each other's heads.

"So, Thatcher, it appears we are at an impasse. Why did you attack me?"

"You saw me shoot du Calors. You killed the guards. Meaning you want to get the reward money _yourself _from handing me over."

Edward lowered his pistol, cackling wildly.

"I detest du Calors as much as you do, if not more, kiddo. In fact, I was there to kill him myself. Look at the crest on my blades, they match yours – even though you haven't earned yours. We fight for the same cause, although you don't know it."

At this, Will too lowered his pistol and smiled sheepishly.

"Apologies, Kenway. You fight like a devil in a man's clothing, matey."

"Touché, Will. Touché. What's say me and you head down to the tavern – set the record straight?"

Will grinned, in a cheeky tone, "Of course, good sir. Good golly, you are sophisticated."

Edward, in response, clipped him over the ear – good naturedly.

Edward slammed his tankard down on the table. He and Will were sat at Edward's favourite, English owned tavern – _The Loose Cannon_. He did not flinch at the strong taste of the rum, but grinned with relish – as a seasoned pirate he had had too much of the stuff for it to affect him so badly. It turned out Will had never tried it – he tentatively sipped it, before promptly cringing horribly and spewing the dark liquid onto the floor. Edward guffawed at the younger man's misfortunes. They carried on drinking for a few minutes (Will preferring a softer Carribean fruit punch this time) before they finally got down to business.

"Well then, Billy-boy, what is your story?"

Will took a deep breath, and began; "A couple of months ago, Thierry du Calors came to my family's farm. He wanted to renovate the area into a sugar plantation – something about it being an astute investment. He offered my father large sums of money, but our family have owned the farm for nearly a hundred years, and my father was strongly against slavery anyway-"

"Hear, hear!"

"So we refused. A few days later, he came back – in the dead of night. This time he had twenty men with him. I wanted to stay behind, but my Dad made me get my mother and sister to safety. My Dad and older brother, James, fought like dogs – but against twenty men they were overwhelmed and taken prisoner. By day they work on the plantation on which we used to live, and by night they are kept prisoner at the Castillo."

Edward had gone serious again, and sat with a grimace on his face.

"I'm sorry, lad."

"Don't be. I have one advantage over du Calors – he doesn't know I exist."

Edward perked up slightly, "Genius, Will. You can't fight a phantom."

"Quite," replied Will, sipping his drink, "Now it's your turn.""

"Well," began Edward. "In 1715, I left my home in Bristol to become a privateer. However… complications meant I became a pirate. I have my own ship and crew – The Jackdaw. But anyway, I became entangled in a struggle between two organisations The Templars and The Assassins. For nearly seven years I was oblivious to this, seeking personal gain, but after losing almost all of my friends, I realised some things were more important than riches. I joined the Assassins to fight the Templars, who seek to keep the world safe by enslaving it, and draining it of all life and soul. The Assassins seek the same goal, yet by different means – we seek to liberate the world of corrupt leaders who care nothing for the rights of the common man – only for their pockets. We fight for equality, we trust the good in humanity – the Templars do not."

Will took all this in quietly, before replying, "I received these robes and weapons from my father just before he made me flee. He said he didn't want 'them' to get hold of it, for his honour. It makes sense now. He would never speak of what he did before he was a farmer, he always skated around it. I do know that he made a lot of enemies. He also had a branding matching the symbol on these hidden blades on his left index finger, and you have one too – I doubt it's a coincidence." Will wiped a single tear from his eye.

"Yes, Will. If he bore that mark, then he was an Assassin. It's all right, lad." Edward patted his shoulder. "You could fight alongside The Assassins if you wanted – du Calors is the head of the Templars in Cuba – you could carry on the legacy of your father."

Will nodded resolutely, "I will not rest 'til du Calors falls, and my father and brother are freed."

Edward nodded back sadly. Another young life destroyed by the Templars.

"That's the spirit lad." That's the spirit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys :) I have just started school again so I will be busy but I will try to update. I know not many will see this, but if you haven't check out LikeCrimsonBloodshed - he is doing an AC fic set in Rome which I would recommend to anyone - if you read, please review, I would like to see if the reaction is good to know if I should keep updating :) enjoy!**

**3**

Edward and Will stood in the training area of the newly renovated Havana Assassin Bureau – the headquarters of the Assassins in Havana. The Caribbean headquarters were located on an island known as Great Inagua – despite Edward's belief that the Assassins should stay among the people they protect. The building was a relatively large tower, with an organised workforce of administrators and Assassins themselves. Years previously, Templar influence had crushed the Bureau into a shack – until Edward arrived. Still, sometimes the Templars – on the orders of Thierry du Calors – would attempt to take it back, as it was a strong tactical position because of its close proximity to the people. That particular district was prospering under Assassin control – but Edward knew the Templars would soon attempt to take that prosperity for themselves.

Will had only hit three of the four targets, and in two of those in body instead of the intended target, the head. Edward had noticed how he had failed to deliver a killing shot to du Calors, so he had decided to begin Will's training with pistol skills.

So far it wasn't going too well.

Edward had never taught anyone combat before and was finding it difficult to keep his patience.

"It's okay, Will," said Edward reservedly. "Your reloading is fine, it's just the shot."

Will looked downtrodden. He had been working all day.

Edward considered a way to get the young, budding Assassin's confidence up.

"Wait here," he instructed, and dashed back inside the Bureau.

He returned with a bulging bag, and walked towards the bench where Will sat, wiping sweat from his forehead and drinking water from a canteen.

"Will," the Welshman spoke, "Get yourself over here lad."

The younger man plodded over wearily.

Edward offered him the bag, and Will took it, albeit a tad confusedly. He reached into it and pulled out two flintlock pistols made of dark mahogany. They were double barrelled with a golden Assassin emblem on each barrel, and golden metalwork on the firing mechanism. And, on the handle were a pair of initials:

**J,T**

Will looked up with a dropped jaw. Edward smiled sadly. "I had a look through the donated equipment cabinet and found these – your father donated them before retiring."

"J.T…" gasped Will, "James Thatcher!"

Edward laughed, "Yes lad. They are top quality firearms as well. They have rifled barrels, but load just as fast as a normal pistol. Not to mention the two barrels. They fire one by one – so together that's four shots without reloading."

Will grinned. "They're amazing."

Edward clapped his arm around his back; "I know, Will. I know."  
Suddenly came a huge bell ringing, from the top of the tower. Edward snapped into action.

"That's the alarm bell, mate! The Templars are mounting an attack to take the Bureau back. Jayzus, I knew this would come. Load those pistols, Will – you're going to need them. Now come on!"

Edward sprinted towards the Bureau tower, before bounding and grabbing a handhold. Quickly he began to scale its walls, looking to find a vantage point on top. His days as a pirate, climbing ropes and masts had given him unbelievable agility, and like most Assassins he was a skilled free-runner. Will had spent his childhood climbing buildings and followed close behind, but there was no question of him catching Edward. Quickly they reached the top, and noticed the battle raging in the streets below. The Templars were attacking from two sides, and the Assassins were understrength with injuries and many off on missions. Little by little the combination of French and Spanish guards working for The Templars were pushing the better trained Assassins back towards the Tower.

"Will, as Mentor of the Havana Assassins, I give you control of the defence of the north side. I'll take the South."

"What?" protested Will bewilderedly, "I don't even know how-"

"Just follow your instincts!

And with that, the two took the Assassin trademark Leap of Faith into the hay bales below.


	4. Chapter 4

Assassin's Creed IV Black Flag: Retribution

**Hey readers :) sorry for not updating recently, just that I've been busy and it hasn't been getting much traffic. Would really appreciate a review :) Enjoy!**

Edward immediately jumped out of the hay bale, hoping he'd taught Will enough for him to be safe. With a quick head count he saw that, defending the south side, 6 Assassins and 15 mercenaries were locked in fierce hand to hand combat – their line beginning to waver against the continental columns of about 35 guards. However, the narrowness of the street was countering the advantage in numbers, and the closeness of combat did not allow for skilful wielding of weaponry – so casualties were few.

Edward fired a pistol shot into the air – "Assassins! On me!"

The Assassins kept weapon racks on each side of the Bureau – swords and pistols had been taken but the rifles were left – no-one anticipated distant combat.

Immediately, the six Assassins fell back from the battle at the sound of their Mentor's voice.

"Onto the roofs!" he yelled, and in seconds the Assassins were on the roofs of the civilian houses on the left side of the battle – their windows slammed shut, their inhabitants in safe rooms.

The Brotherhood had installed simple lifts throughout the city, using a platform, rope, and a counterweight, for the rooftops were essential to their trade. One of these lifts was close by. Edward dragged the rack onto the lift, cut the rope, and the counterweight dropped, shooting the platform up. He stepped off onto the roof.

"Grab a gun, and move alongside the column." he ordered, and the well trained fighters stealthily moved along the roof until they were in a line alongside the part of the column not fighting on the front line.

"Okay lads," he said, "You know what to do. Cartridges out! Bite! Pour! Spit! Pour! Tap! Ram! Cock! Aim… FIRE!"

This whole loading process took about twenty seconds, and six shots rained down on the column, and four guards fell. The deafening noise did more damage, as the Templars had not expected guns, and the smoke obscured how many there were.

The Assassins didn't stop.

Relentlessly, Edward kept up the call, making sure the riflemen kept in time. The very back of the column fumbled for muskets, and the mercenary allies were reinvigorated by the covering fire. After three more volleys the column was in disarray, and Edward made the call.

"CHARGE!"

He and the Assassins jumped down into the fray and the 14 remaining mercenaries, (2 dead, 4 injured) sprinted forwards as a unit, and in seconds the guards were routed. The defenders cheered, but Edward quickly got them organised. There was still an attack.

He may have led the defenders to victory – but had Will done the same?

Will slowly climbed out of his hay bale. This street was far wider, so at opposite ends disorganised troops took cover behind crates and walls, firing shots in their own time trying to get the upper hand. There were no mercenaries on this side of the Bureau, so 12 Assassins fought ten guards.

The guards were beginning to waver.

Then disaster struck.

Reinforcements came, doubling the Templar firepower. Will realised that there was no way to win this battle conventionally, so he yelled at the Assassins to hold firm, before also taking to the rooftops. One sentry saw him sprinting across the tiles and trained his rifle, but from fifty yards Will picked him off with one of his new pistols.

"Impressive." He said to himself.

He continued sprinting until he was way behind enemy lines. Suddenly, he crouched down as he saw two soldiers guarding a fat, bald man – in military uniform – who was sitting in a chair in a small gazebo, drinking red wine from a large glass. Will recognised him as one of Thierry du Calors' right hand men – Sir David Valencio.

A Templar lieutenant with a Spanish accent walked into the shelter.

"The battle goes well on the north side, Sir Valencio."

Will grimaced, wishing Edward luck in his head.

Valencio laughed callously, taking a big gulp of wine, "_Mucho bien_! We'll crush these Assassin fools!"

The lieutenant saluted, and marched away from the gazebo, to re-join the battle - leaving the Templar leader a sitting duck.

Donning his green-trimmed hood, Will jumped down from the low rooftop onto the dusty cobbles below, crouching and rolling as he did so. The guards scrambled to reach their guns but Will was too fast. He drew his pistols and with one shot from each, took down them both.

Valencio smiled, clapping slowly. "William Thatcher, is it not? Oh, you do look so much like your father."

"Shut up." Will growled.  
"How is your father doing these days? Not too good I suppose." Valencio sneered.

"Shut. Up." The Englishman repeated, with some more force.

"And of course, your brother, is he too spending all day cutting sugar like the _perro Ingles _he is?"

"I said SHUT UP!" Will shouted, and he pounced, activating his wristblade as he flew, taking down the older man. All of his rage at this man playing a part in his home being made into a slave plantation, his mother and sister forced to go into hiding, his father and brother becoming slaves, and he stabbed, once, twice, three times –

"Will!" The Welsh voice rang out. Will felt himself being wrenched from his target, and span around to face his Mentor.

Edward looked a mixture of sad and angry. "Listen here Will. At the very _heart_ of the Assassin's Creed is belief in humanity. Belief that you are better than this."

"He would've hung me on the nearest tree and thrown me into a river had he had the chance!"

"But you are _not_ him, lad. The Assassins show honour, courage, and mercy. Killing another man is a horrible thing, but at times it must be done. And when it does, you must do it in the most dignified way possible, no matter what your foe would've done to you."

Will nodded soberly, the horror of what he had did settling in. In that brief moment he had become as bad as the Templars.

He turned to see Valencio shaking gently, covered in blood. Will walked over to him, and held his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," he said, feeling truly sorry.

In reply, Valencio used his last energy to spit in Will's face and mumble: "_Viva los Templars!" _before lying still.

Will shook his head sadly; "Rest in peace." He stood up and walked away slowly to see Edward, who pulled him into a tight embrace, before pulling away to grab his shoulders.

"The battle is won lad. We arrived in time to counter the reinforcements. And this is a high ranking Templar you've just taken out. Well done, lad. Better a lesson learned than not."

Will nodded, but still realised how much killing another man had taken out of him.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this."  
Edward smiled wisely. "None of us will, lad. And that compassion – that's what separates an Assassin, from a Templar. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."


End file.
